The Columbia

Just wind, just wind.

translucent stratus-spotted sky

reflected in the wrong way white caps 

of the mighty Columbia.

Just wind, just wind,

clean scentless rushing in

through the pores, flushing out

the debris of fires, Covid and elections.

Just wind, mighty tropical storm force wind

with no rain, no blowing dirt, just sky

blowing through the indian paintbrush

who dance like octopus arms in play.

Just wind, powerful unthreatening wind

knocking me to the ground

tumbling over me like boulders landsliding

breaking the bones of habituated thoughts.

Just wind, relentless wind 

beach grass laughing in terror

like children on a rollercoaster

“Again, again again!”

Just wind, my wind, I want to own it

to name it for me, to be it; 

unaided, unabetted, unapologetic

known, remembered, and forgotten in the same instant.

Just wind, sky chariot carrying me

Lifting me out of absorbed selfness

shattering shackles of the three times

unforming, unregressing, uncreating, unending.

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